


First Chance

by The_Dancing_Walrus



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Arguments, Gen, One Shot, Redemption, TARDIS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dancing_Walrus/pseuds/The_Dancing_Walrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and the Master have an awkward conversation about the past and the present and try to come up with a future that seems acceptable to both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Chance

The world goes completely insane when the Doctor finally gets a clue just like he'd known it would. Of course he'd never actually _said_ that to anyone so he doesn't even have the satisfaction of being able to say 'I told you so'. He _does_ reflect that it is probably considered rather odd to have some parts of your mind gloating over your predicament while the rest of them are in full uncontrollable panic over everything from the god-awful-decor (and why does regeneration never seem to improve the Doctor's taste?) to the quickly closing distance between them to the fact that he was _sure_ there was at least another foot between his back and the console but apparently not because-

 

And the worst thing is that this entire mess is completely out of his control. Not 'everything falling to pieces due to Doctor-induced-insanity' or 'supposed allies betraying him, backstabbing alien gits that they inevitably are' or 'a suddenly obvious hole in his wonderful plan' but no semblance of control to begin with which is actually more terrifying then he'd imagined. Because there is _nothing_ worse than being at someone else's mercy and when that someone else is the Doctor then it is really time to pack up and run for the proverbial hills and practicality be damned.

 

But his legs are jelly and he's pretty sure that he's only upright because of the grip he's got on the console and _bathtaps_ Doctor? _Really?_ \- And it's not as though there is anywhere convenient to run _to_ although he does briefly consider the swimming pool on the grounds that it might be the last place the Doctor would look although knowing his luck and the Doctor's logic it would probably turn out to be the first.

 

It's not _fair_.

 

The Doctor's hand reaches up to his face and part of him wants to flinch away and part of him wants to lean into it and it is all so incredibly _pathetic_. The Doctor stares at him for a while, as if he's seeing something new in the same face and _damnitallbacktothefrickingtimewarandRassilon it isn't **fair**._

 

The hand stops a clear inch from his cheekbone and hovers there. The Doctor swallows, once, twice. The part of his mind that was busy gloating pauses long enough to appreciate that for _once_ he seems to have caught the Doctor on the wrong-foot, so why doesn't this feel good?

 

"I'm sorry," The Doctor whispers finally. "I didn't- I- I couldn't- Oh Rassilon I'm so blind-"

 

He snorts and considers agreeing. Instead he stares off at the ceiling because he does _not_ want to see that horrible pitying expression on the Doctor's face again and he really should have done something about those beams decades ago because he's pretty sure they're growing into some of the TARDIS' steering systems which really can't be helping the Doctor's already abysmal driving-

 

He keeps expecting the Doctor to make some speech, something comforting and banal in one final effort to _fix_ him. And that would be alright because then he could get angry. Then he could rage and scream and hurt this useless fifty-two-percent-average excuse for a Time Lord. Then he'd have some semblance of control again, some illusion of normality. So of course the Doctor doesn't speak, he babbles incoherently on the theme of his stupidity and apology and the pleasant vagueries of what _could_ have been. He stands with his hand trembling an inch away because the Doctor obviously knows that a touch would probably set him off but _his_ Time Lord can't quite bring himself to take that hand away.

 

Eventually the Doctor runs out of words. He thinks about adding his own banalities, some biting comment about the state the Doctor's let the beams grow into because he never did know how to- But his eyes skim back down from the ceiling for a second and he stops and sighs.

 

"Do you remember Stangmoor?" He asks the ceiling softly. "What did you see strapped in the machine?"

 

"Daleks, Cybermen," The Doctor admits and his voice sounds hoarse. "World's burning-"

 

"Do you know what _I_ saw?" He interrupts before it all descends back into that same old nonsense about the Time War and having to end it all and being the Last One left; he's not sure he could stand  that now.

 

The Doctor shakes his head. "Not-"

 

"You." He says and watches the Doctor wince.

 

"I'm-"

 

" _Sorry_ ," He spits, putting a considerable amount of bile into the word. "I _know_. You're always sorry."

 

"And _you_ never are." The Doctor nearly snarls.

 

He laughs, or tries to. "What do you expect?"

 

"Oh I don't know," The Doctor snaps sarcastically. "That my _friends_ don't spend centuries trying to kill me?"

 

His eyes slide to the floor, which is covered with dust from a dozen worlds, and he doesn't really want to reply but he's fairly sure the Doctor already knows and it isn't _nearly_ as mortifying as that last admission about Stangmoor.

 

"I never could." He confesses finally.

 

"I-I know but-" The Doctor stutters and trails off.

 

"Your floor is filthy." He observes.

 

The Doctor sighs. "Don't."

 

After an age the Doctor steps back, giving him enough space to breath again. He leans back against the console, hoping that it looks casual and not at all as though his legs are still wobbly. The Doctor runs a hand through his hair, which still looks ridiculous although not nearly as bad as it did back when he had that godawful coat. The Doctor huffs and paces and makes a thorough mess of his hair.  He circles the console a few times before slumping against it, a foot to the right.

 

They stare at the ceiling.

 

"What are we going to do?" The Doctor asks the beams.

 

He shrugs. They'll do what they always do, because by now the pattern is so ingrained they don't know how to stand in the same room without picking a fight. But he never could accept defeat and this is the Doctor-

 

"I don't know." He says, because lying is easier.

 

"You could always-" The Doctor begins then swallows sharply. "I could help I-"

 

"No." His voice is firm, definite.

 

"But I'm sure I could-"

 

"I said _NO_."

 

The Doctor flinches and the silence stretches between them again. The Doctor studies the floor for a long time while he tries not to imagine what it would be like to say yes. What would happen if he gave up, finally accepted that his place is second to the Doctor? He knows that in the Doctor's optimistic mind it would seem like a return to the Good Old Days, the two of them together, getting into and out of trouble, bouncing theories off each other but now with all of time and space before them. He was always the realist and perhaps that's why-

 

He knows that part of him, a part that can never regenerate, would die if he surrendered. Especially to the Doctor. It is one of the things that makes victory so sweet and the Doctor's presence so painful. The one being left who can truly hurt him.

 

"So," The Doctor starts, slow as if he'd still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. "You're going to just.......leave?"

 

"Why not?" He replies, with less emotion then he feels.

 

"Because that's-" The Doctor has the sense to stop himself before he says 'crazy'.

 

"It's _what_?" He challenges.

 

"Ridiculous." The Doctor settles for, which sets his teeth on edge because he _hates_ it when the Doctor belittles him like that. The Doctor of course never seems to notice-

 

"We have a chance to sort this out." The Doctor continues relentlessly. "We _don't_ have to fight. We _can_ change things, if you'll just trust me-"

 

And that suggestion is so mad and so simple and _so_ very Doctor that he can't help laughing.

 

"You want _me_ to trust _you_?!" It sounds even more outlandish when he says it himself.

 

The Doctor looks flustered for a moment, almost offended, and wouldn't that be a novelty? His mouth opens and closes a few times before he gathers up the wit to make words.

 

"Why not?"

 

Not nearly as controlled, the Doctor's voice sounds thick and forced, sad. He _has_ got the Doctor off-balance, that's.......gratifying. It soothes him enough to let him answer, honestly. All told he's been more honest in the last five minutes then in the last century-

 

"Because you're not trustworthy."

 

"I'm _what?!_ "

 

He smiles, so many regenerations and the Doctor's indignation is the same it makes this all suddenly feel natural again.

 

"You tried to kill me, more than once. No don't start pouting like that, you know it's true-"

 

"You tried to kill me too!" The Doctor protests, as though that somehow proves his point.

 

"But _I_ never could, could I?"

 

He lets the Doctor digest the implication for a few moments.

 

"But I-" The Doctor begins.

 

"Sarn."

 

"Well yeah ok," The Doctor admits. "But I was sure that-"

 

"Heart of the TARDIS-"

 

"That was an accident!"

 

"The Rani-"

 

"Alright! You've made your point. I've killed you a couple of times, but it never took."

 

"Which means I shouldn't take it _personally_?"

 

"You just wouldn't stop," The Doctor murmurs. "You wouldn't listen and- and you never seemed to understand that these were _people_ and _planets_ and _whole species-_ "

 

"Racnoss, Daleks, _Time Lords-_ "

 

"I _know_." The Doctor snaps. "But I never did it for _fun_."

 

He wants to object, to come up with some smart and cutting justification but he can't think of anything and the Doctor, damn him, has seized the advantage again. He should have known, he never can stay in control, stay in charge, for very long when the Doctor is around.

 

The Doctor drags his palms over his hair flattening it again. "I- I'm making a mess of this."

 

He snorts, truth be told they've _both_ been making a mess of it for several centuries now. He's expecting another Doctor-special-announcement on Morality and Ethics and Justice but the Doctor catches him off guard again-

 

"Why didn't you take me with you?"

 

"What do you mean?" He asks, although he has a pretty shrewd idea-

 

"When you left, when you first left, why didn't you take me with you?"

 

"I don't know." It's not something he's considered, it makes him frown. "I suppose I didn't think it was important-"

 

"Not important! You left me _stranded_ at home!"

 

He did, and he'd known that the Doctor had wanted to leave, wanted to see the stars as much as he did, may be more. He nods, pushes the dust around with his shoe.

 

"You got out eventually." He whispers.

 

"That's not the point."

 

He nods, agrees, accepts it. Perhaps he started it after all he abandoned the Doctor first.

 

"I hadn't planned it," He says. "I just saw an opportunity and.....going back for you would have been.......impractical."

 

"Thanks." The Doctor replies laying on the sarcasm as thick as lead plating round a nuclear reactor.

 

"Sorry." He murmurs.

 

And the Doctor, forever generous, smiles weakly, accepts this first apology and forgives him without a word. And he's struck once more with the simple fact that his enemy, his friend, no......his _opponent_ , is so much more then any other Time Lord, that the Doctor is unlike anyone else and-

 

He swallows that feeling hastily before the Doctor notices (too late-) and changes the subject.

 

"Think about it, if I'd taken you with me you'd never had taken this worthless piece of junk from the scrap-heap-"

 

"Don't talk about my TARDIS that way!" The Doctor practically squeals.

 

He laughs. "The chameleon circuit doesn't work, the steering and the timing is completely off, the brakes are shoddy, some of the outer rooms are falling to pieces and you've patched her up with even more flotsam than-"

 

"Don't! Don't you _dare_. She's _my_ TARDIS and she's _beautiful_."

 

"Sure if you like stolen wrecks-"

 

"I did _not_ steal her." The Doctor huffs. "It's not stealing if nobody wanted her."

 

"I'm sure the police would disagree."

 

"Well _you_ stole your first TARDIS too." The Doctor grumbles.

 

"I did not!" He declares.

 

"You _so_ did."

 

"I did not." He maintains. "I _borrowed_ it. From my cousin-"

 

"You know you usually need _permission_ for it to be 'borrowing'-"

 

"Only when you're not related."

 

The Doctor laughs. "Oh Rassilon he must have skinned you alive!"

 

"He tried."

 

And they're smiling at each other again, just like that. Suddenly it doesn't seem so impossible, sorting it out, unknotting this terrible tangled mess and making life bearable for both of them again. The laughter, the reminiscences are good for them. He closes his eyes for a moment, holding on to this fleeting happiness.

 

He has an idea.

 

"How about-" He pauses briefly, the Doctor will probably find a dozen holes in this but then again-

 

"A change of.......tactics."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

He's not entirely sure. "What you do, have done, you realise that it's put you in control of a significant portion of the universe across several times?"

 

"No!" The Doctor says as though the idea is comical.

 

He raises an eyebrow. "If you went to Earth, practically any time period, they'd do what you said without a second thought. Don't try and deny it. If you say 'jump' there's always a UNIT or a Torchwood or a _Queen_ who'll say 'how high?' isn't there?"

 

"What's your point?"

 

"You said you never wanted to rule the universe but you do- by default I suppose. It's a side effect of your.......methods and it's long term, none of mine ever lasted more then-"

 

"I can't believe this," The Doctor interrupts. "How many times do I have to tell you I am not going to help you conquer the universe?"

 

"No, you've done a fantastic job on your own-"

 

"That's not true!" The Doctor sounds suddenly like a petulant child.

 

He sighs, giving the Doctor the same stern look that never worked in lectures. "Will you let me finish?"

 

"Not if you're just going to say the same thing you did on Uxarieus. I'm not interested and neither should you be. You don't _need_ to rule-"

 

"Actually I think _I_ do, just like _you_ need to fix people."

 

"That's-but that's-"

"Not the same?" He suggests mildly. "Why not? Because you think what you do is right and what I do is wrong?"

 

"Yes! No! I-"

 

"We're both meddlers." He muses. "If you had to sit back and _watch_ it all without being able to do anything it would kill you-"

 

"Do you _have_ a point?"

 

"I'm fed up of playing second fiddle to you. I am sick and tired of watching you tear everything I do to pieces and not being able to-" He trails off, shakes his head as if to clear it. "And you can't stand back and just let things be but if I do things _your_ way you won't have a reason to step in-"

 

"So you want me to leave you alone in a nice little dictatorship somewhere?" The Doctor queries in a tone that conveys exactly how unlikely this is.

 

"No." He sighs. He stares at the floor.

 

"You really think you need power over people?" The Doctor asks gently.

 

"Yes." He mutters, because it's _obvious_ even the Doctor should know it-

 

"Why?"

 

He shrugs. "Why do you think you need to fix them?"

 

"Because it's right- And yes I can see how you're going to shoot that down."

 

He smiles. "I have a point."

 

"No you don't."

 

"Yes I do. You're only upset because you don't like the way I do things, the end result clearly doesn't matter or you'd have made more of an effort to break up your little empire. So if I do it your way you've got nothing to complain about."

 

It sounds almost possible, logical, set out like that. For some reason he thinks of the Rani, what was it she said? Get dizzy if he tried to think in a straight line-

 

"I can't believe we're having this conversation." The Doctor says sliding a hand to his forehead and driving his hair up into a tussled mess again.

 

"Well we are, so either give me an answer or think of something better." He folds his arms and hunches forwards away from the console to glare at an innocent spot on the railing.

 

"You could stay, with me-"

 

"You've said that three times already today. I am _not_ going to be your prisoner, or your patient, or your _pet_."

 

"And that's what you think it would be like?" There's something sad in the Doctor's voice, it makes him look up sharply.

 

For a moment they manage to look at each other and the Doctor seems haggard. They've both lived through a little too much.

 

He sighs and leans back to stare at the ceiling. "You've got a working TARDIS, probably the last, you have to date beaten me every time we've crossed paths-"

 

"That's not-"

 

"Yes it is. You don't trust me but you expect _me_ to trust _you_."

 

"You'll kill people."

 

"You'll kill me! And I just said that if _that_ is the problem I'll stop-"

 

The Doctor sighs. "You're a liar."

 

He snorts. "Please. I think we've known each other long enough for you to be able to tell when I'm lying. Unless of course you think I _can't_ do it?"

 

The Doctor is silent. He waits until he realises that the Doctor is not going to answer. He gets so angry so quickly that he's spun round and pinned the Doctor against the console before he's even thought to move.

 

"You think I _can't do it_." He accuses and the Doctor won't meet his eyes.

 

He wants, very much, to strangle the Doctor.

 

Instead he turns away, hands scrubbing into his hair and _yells_ because it's _not fair_. Because they shouldn't have fought so long over so little. Because he shouldn't have been used as a living bridge to a dying world. Because his emotions _shouldn't_ be so far out of his control. Because his best friend shouldn't be his worst enemy. Because he shouldn't be forced to chose between his freedom and his life.

 

Because his hearts hurt.

 

The Doctor's arms slip around him, just like the Valiant, only this time there's nothing to forgive because he hasn't _done_ anything. It just feels as though the cosmos is bearing down on him and the silence in his head is deafening.

 

"OK," The Doctor whispers. "I- I won't- I won't ask you to stay. You can leave if you- if you want to. It's OK-"

 

It's not.

 

For a while he listens to the Doctor ramble, lets himself relax in his arms. When he's got control of himself again he pulls back.

 

"Why am I always the one who ends up like this?" He wonders aloud.

 

"Too many blows to the head." The Doctor diagnoses.

 

It's so ridiculous and _so_ Doctor that he starts to laugh. He's a little surprised when the Doctor joins in and god he knows that grin it's exactly the same as in-

 

"Nesteranx!" He says at exactly the same time as the Doctor and sets them both laughing again.

 

"How," The Doctor wonders. "Were we ever _that_ stupid?"

 

" _We?_ I seem to remember it being _your_ idea-"

 

"All I said was-"

 

"That a genetic and temporal lock is just another kind of code." He interrupts. "I know. I remember. Why I actually _listened-_ "

 

" _Listened?"_ The Doctor repeats incredulously. " _You_ were the one who brought up wagers. And beer-"

 

"And _you,_ " He counters. "Were the one who 'borrowed' a molecular compressor, two Omega Class trans-indental relays, a temporal meter that was _how_ big?-"

 

"It was the smallest one I could find." The Doctor huffs but he isn't really paying much attention because he's too busy cataloguing the Doctor's thefts.

 

"-and the next thing _I_ know about it, it's three in the morning and I'm being kidnapped by a mad man at screwdriver-point and being _roped into-_ "

 

"I don't remember you _complaining-_ " The Doctor points out.

 

"It was _three in the morning!_ " He says because it is, he feels, the main point.

 

"Oh so if I'd come round at lunch time you _wouldn't_ have wanted to break into the Dean's office then?"

 

"You had me trying to break a complex genetic code at _three in the morning_." He protests. "With an _onion_!"

 

"It was all I could get hold of at short notice."

 

They grin at each other until it dawns on them both that the place, the people they're thinking of aren't there any more. The mood falters and they break apart again.

 

He sighs wondering for a moment whether he should break the silence or let the Doctor- But no, they've gone down the Doctor's route before and it ends badly because it is not in his nature to acknowledge restrictions and it is not in the Doctor's to leave people alone. If they are going to heal, if they are going to inch down the dangerous road of trusting each other again, it can't be from either side of a cage.

 

"You think I can't do it." He whispers to the TARDIS walls and the Doctor takes a deep steadying breath.

 

"I think that if you wanted to enough you could." The Doctor finally responds, weighing his words carefully.

 

"So you think I don't want to?" He manages some how to keep the anger out of his voice.

 

"You want to now," The Doctor admits, though his speech is still slow and measured. "But what about next week? Next month? A year from now? I think you'll find it difficult and boring and sooner or later you'll forget why you're bothering long enough to- I can't do it. I can't just stand back and risk another species or planet or _galaxy_ on one of your whims."

 

So the Doctor thinks he isn't serious. What a surprise. There are times when he wonders how they ever understood the first thing they said to each other. But at the moment he's focusing, or trying to focus, on persuading the Doctor round to his way of thinking, to the _only_ way of solving this.

 

He looks up at the Doctor, who has that stupid apologetic expression plastered all over his face again, as if that would make trapping him here _better_ somehow and-

 

He knows how to convince the Doctor he's serious and _Rassilon_ he hates it, it is ridiculous and embarrassing and weak and contrary to everything he is and it puts the situation firmly in the Doctor's hands.

 

Which essentially means that he is screwed.

 

Yep.

 

Definitely.

 

Buggered.

 

The irony of saving the situation, by handing over control to the Doctor isn't entirely lost on him; one of the more demonic voices in the back of his mind is laughing so maniacally that given a physical form it probably wouldn't be able to stand up for a week. The others are all busy telling him how the Doctor will mess it up, or misinterpret his gesture, or laugh at him, or worst of all _not notice_. He has a sudden urge for a stiff drink and wonders if the TARDIS has forgiven him enough to make one. Then he remembers the last time he tried to have a shower in the TARDIS and supposes that for a beat up old wreck the TARDIS has a long memory and apparently the ability to hold a grudge.

 

He is so very screwed.

 

He swallows and tries to convince himself that it really doesn't matter that much after all it's only..... except it's _never_ only the Doctor and it _does_ matter, if it didn't matter there's no way it would work. He swallows again. The Doctor is looking at him, head tilted to one side in an expression of mild confusion.

 

"Are you alright?"

 

Most definitely _not,_ he thinks, but he manages to grate out a 'yes'.

 

"You look- Does something- Are you hurt, it's just you look-"

 

"I'm _fine_." He snarls.

 

"It's not that excess regenerat-"

 

"I'm _fine_."

 

It's going to be worse then he thought. He takes a deep breath and tries very hard to calm down , stop feeling so very inclined to commit homicide and _stops_ looking at the Doctor because if the idiot asks him what's wrong again he's going to have to punch him.

 

"I uh-" He begins and trails off.

 

Another fantastic start. Why is it always like this when the Doctor's involved?

 

"I just- I can't see another way, and if you suggest staying with you _one more time-_ "

 

The Doctor raises his hands and keeps his mouth shut. Which is something. And he should probably just say it quickly and get it over with. Like pulling off a plaster. Or a limb. Which is a very unhelpful image. The Doctor is still staring at him so very seriously, as though he's wondering whether to pull out a stethoscope and live up to his name. Which is an even worse image.

 

"I wa-" He begins, but that's not right.

 

"What I mean is-" He swallows again.

 

"Are you _sure-_ " The Doctor questions.

 

" _Shut up!_ " He snaps. "This is important so _listen_ , why don't you ever _listen_?"

 

The Doctor is quiet, so of course he finds he no longer knows what to say.

 

He takes a deep breath and screws his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look at that horrible _worried_ expression on the Doctor's face. He wonders briefly why the Doctor bothers, he can't really be worried about him. Not really. Actions speak louder than words-

 

He's making a mess of this.

 

"Can't you-" His voice drops to a mutter, he can't help it, it's just _so-_

 

 _"_ Can'tyougivemeachancejustthisonceplease." He finally spits out.

 

For what seems like forever the Doctor is quiet and _damn Rassilon and all those other stuck up gits_ the Doctor chooses _now_ to start _obeying_ him.

 

He takes a risk and opens his eyes again. And the Doctor _damn him_ is _grinning_. Before he can think of something cutting the Doctor beats him to the punchline.

 

"What did you just say?" The Doctor asks, grin widening a notch.

 

"You heard me." He growls.

 

"Nope, you were muttering, couldn't catch a word." The Doctor swears, grinning like a loon and lying like the bastard he is.

 

He gets thumped for it.

 

"No really I couldn't hear you, would you mind uh, _repeating_ that?"

 

The Doctor has clearly got dumber over the years. He hits him again.

 

"Ow! I think I preferred you when you were swarthy and sophisticated."

 

"I think I preferred _you_ when you still had fashion sense." He shoots back.

 

The Doctor grins at him and he glares back.

 

"Sure you don't want to say it one more time?"

 

"Sure you don't want a black eye?"

 

The Doctor smiles at him, then he sighs.

 

"I'm going to regret this." The Doctor says with certainty.

 

But he's on his feet in a second, at the console. The TARDIS makes an unhealthy noise and he wonders whether he should get to his feet or stay here leaning against the railings. They aren't bad railings. And the Doctor has the upper hand, it might be better not to try and work out what he's planning just yet. He'll probably hate it after all. They're probably going to a prison planet, or that temporal rift in the outer reaches of Cabulus. It occurs to him that remaining wilfully ignorant is probably cowardice. So he clambers to his feet and feels almost giddy.

 

He realises he's waiting for the gunshot. He's _asked_ the _Doctor_ to help, he's let the Doctor see him weak and vulnerable and he's expecting to die for it, although he knows that's not how the Doctor does things. Not directly anyway. Not here and now, inside the TARDIS when the universe is safe and his feet are still unsteady, because that would feel like an execution and the Doctor doesn't execute people.

 

He wanders up to the console and peers over the Doctor's shoulder. The Doctor stiffens and he pretends not to notice. Because there are planets on the consoles, colonies not prisons which means-

 

He smiles. "You're going soft in your old age."

 

"If you-If you hurt these people I'll-" The Doctor's threat trails off into nothing as he glares at a screen and sighs.

 

He shrugs and tries to hide his own doubts by fiddling nonchalantly with a few of the dials. The Doctor scrubs a hand through his hair and does not even glance in his direction.

 

"Pick one," The Doctor finally says, his tone is flat because he is obviously busy imagining all the ways this will go wrong. "I'll give you a year. No interruptions, no interference I won't even look. After that-"

 

It's more then he hoped for. He picks a planet with a sky that reminds him of home and a small colony of Malmooth which triggers vague memories of a polite, smiling creature, half lost in the drum beats, who might have been a friend. The TARDIS pitches and whines, because the Doctor never did know how to keep her in good working order, blow torches _honestly_ -

 

They land with a jolt that sends both of them staggering but some how he's not in the mood to point out the Doctor's complete lack of driving skills.

 

"So." The Doctor begins.

 

"So." He replies.

 

The Doctor doesn't move to the door or to him. He knows that the Doctor won't look at the planet he's leaving him on, because he expects the worst. And the Doctor won't look at him, because the Doctor doesn't love him, has never loved him and that-

 

He smiles, sudden and sharp. He'll make the Doctor look at him one last time. He leans one hand on the console, truly casual this time.

 

"You're going to fall in love with me."

 

He's still smiling when the Doctor looks up sharply, when his shock turns to a suspicious scowl.

 

"That's not something you can order." The Doctor states in the same emotionless tone he used to give his terms.

 

"Oh I'm not giving you an _order_. Call it......a _promise_."

 

He smiles, wide and sweet and dangerous and bounds out of the TARDIS into a new world with a sky the same colour as a home that isn't there anymore. It makes him pause for a moment. But it's only a moment. After all there's a whole world before him, on the outer edge of Rutan Empire if he's any judge, and he is, they'll probably attempt to infiltrate the colony, assuming they haven't already-

 

Then there's the unusual build up of, he sniffs, Xenon yes definitely Xenon, which is all wrong because it's hardly ever produced especially not by terraforming equipment which tends to ignore the trace gases-

 

He strides away from the police box without a backward glance, a smile on his face-

 

There's so much to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I still have no idea which Master and which Doctor this is, it just happened during a period of too-much-Who.


End file.
